Venom
by JadedZero
Summary: Arriving in Stuttgart a week before the lecture, Loki crosses paths with a fiery woman who is useful in more ways than one. Also includes Loki's return to Asgard after The Avengers. Loki x OC Loki x Sif T Rating though later MARKED chapters will have an M Rating.
1. Chapter 1

**A Few Adjustments/General Author's Note:**** Hello faithful readers. I have taken the liberty to make a few adjustments to the first four chapters. Although they may seem minimal, I suggest going through and picking up on these changes, for they were made because they are pertinent to the development of the story. (If you are really pressed for time or uninterested, the majority of the changes take place in Chapter 3). I have been kicking these changes around for about a week, and now that they are out of the way, I can continue working on Chapter 5. Thank you once again for your dedication and patience. :)**

**As a final note, I would like to mention the rating of this particular work. I have rated it M for later chapters, which will be marked by an author's note at the beginning of the chapter, although most of the content in this story is T/T+. Do not let it dissuade you from reading, because the M chapters can most likely be skipped without disrupting the congruity of the story. However, it is easier to mark the entire work as M to play it safe, instead of creating a separate "story" for the M marked chapters. Thank you again for understanding. :) Now, off I go to work on Chapter 5!**

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**Even More Adjustments: Now at the end of Chapter 2.  
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* * *

Chapter I

"We have arrived."

As the limo pulled around to the front of the hotel, Agent Reynolds glanced in the rearview mirror, his pale blue eyes staring soullessly into the back seat. The sound of fabric being woven and pulled into place slowed to a stop, and a pair of blue eyes glanced up to meet Agent Reynolds'. They were not soulless. They were dark, teeming with thoughts, and most of all, mischief. The passenger cracked a small smile and pulled the door handle, placing one long leg out of the car.

"Thank you, Reynolds. Just pull the car around to the garage and wait."

"What about the luggage, sir?" Reynolds asked, his eyes shimmering a bit to show worry.

"Do not concern yourself with such details," said the passenger as he smiled and swung out of the car, shutting the door lightly behind him.

He was a tall drink of water that was well dressed. A "drink of water" was a bit misleading, but to the residents of Stuttgart, Germany, that was all they needed to know. That and that his cane was a gift from his service in some war, somewhere far away and not a piece of alien technology masquerading as such. This cane had in it power, power that turned the world's best archer into his personal fountain of enemy intelligence with just a small tap to the sternum.

As the limo pulled away, he walked towards the front doors, situating his long coat on his shoulders. He bowed his head slightly towards a doorman and made his way into the hotel lobby. The hotel spared no expense with its marble floors, oak and marble banisters, finely upholstered furnishings, and electric chandeliers. The lobby glowed, almost surreally, against the gray of the late afternoon pressing in on the high glass windows.

He approached the high oak counter, dizzying slightly between the reflection of himself in the marble floor and the dark reflection in the polished oak coupled with the warm glow of the lights.

"Oh, hallo Herr. Willkommen auf den Königspalast. Wie viele ich Ihnen helfen?" A clean shaven man grinned widely behind the desk and looked at him expectantly.

"Ich spreche kein Deutsch," he replied automatically as he approached the counter.

"My apologies, sir. How can I help you?"

"I have a room. The name is Luke Asimov."

The receptionist tapped away at a keyboard, scanned the screen lazily, then looked back at Luke. "Ah yes. The suite overlooking the city, correct? May I see a form of identification, please, Mr. Asimov?"

Luke sighed and fiddled for his wallet in his coat pocket. He thumbed through it and handed the receptionist a plastic card with an eye roll.

The receptionist glanced at the card, then at him, then at the card again before smiling. "Welcome to the Royal Palace, Mr. Asimov." He kept smiling as he activated two key cards, placed them in an envelope, and handed them over to Luke.

Luke smiled, a sliver of pearl among flesh. He grabbed the cards and tucked them in his breast pocket as he turned from the counter in a large sweep. He pulled himself up short, almost colliding with an elderly gentleman with wrinkled crevices for eyes in a tan trench coat. He smiled up at Luke and slowly made his way around him, his back hunched slightly.

"Excuse me, young man," he muttered through worn lips as he made his way to the counter.

Luke nodded slightly and moved out of his way, gripping the head of the cane in his right hand. He was ever thankful that a handful of centuries stood between him and his body looking like that man's.

There were others in the lobby, mortals which he scanned idly, unamused by their quite chattering as they sat in plush chairs by the fireplace, talking over the days' events and making plans for the coming evening. They were all completely consumed in their own little lives, laughing lightly, smiling, not chancing to glance away from the person to whom they were conversing with for fear of missing a crucial detail of their life. All but one.

She sat near the door, in a dark high backed chair, her legs neatly crossed with a magazine held at chin height. Luke thought it was not the most advantageous seat in the lobby, subject to the chill of the coming evening's air that was swept in as each guest arrived or left. She seemed comfortable, nonetheless, just staring at Luke, perhaps looking up for a brief second between articles, for she seamlessly glanced back to the magazine as though nothing out of the ordinary at happened. She was just observing her surroundings, not planning or waiting. Just a silly mortal doing silly mortal things, being paranoid for no sound reason.

Luke felt slightly unnerved, but he lowered his quizzical brow, blinked slowly and stepped towards the entrance. He stared at her as he walked past, silently begging that she would look up, so he could see her eyes, see into her as though she were a magazine herself and her fears were scribbled over the pages. But she did not even glance his way. She lazily licked her index finger and flicked the page of her magazine, drowning in advice columns and perfume advertisements.

Once stepping into the gray of the hastening evening, Luke made his way to the garage, where Reynolds had haphazardly parked the limo sideways over three spots. After a few grumbled orders, Reynolds was dutifully opening the trunk and emptying its contents. Two suitcases, one for Luke and one for him, and, most importantly, a heavy black box filled with, for lack of a better word, "toys".

"Do you remember your orders?"

"Take these to the checkpoint, meet with Barton, await your command," Reynolds replied with a monotone voice.

"Good man. Make haste then."

Reynolds picked up his cases and walked in the opposite direction of the Royal Palace. Luke picked up his case, went back to the hotel, and approached the elevators, pressing the up arrow to summon it. As he waited for it to arrive, he checked the envelope which held the keys for his room number. 1307. A ding signaled the elevator's arrival. He stepped into the elevator and pressed thirteen when a voice cut through the fluorescent hum of the lights.

"Halten Sie das Höhenruder, bitte! Hold the elevator, please!"

Luke put his cane between the closing doors. They jerked and then parted slowly, revealing the girl from the lobby. Her hair was wispy and dark. She clutched the magazine she had earlier in one hand and a clutch purse in the other. Luke retreated to the far corner, not intimidated but wary. Close quarter combat was not his forte.

"Thanks," she said, rather breathlessly, stepping in and glancing at the panel of button. She stared for a second then looked back to him as the doors slid close and the elevator ascended.

"I usually take the stairs, but the task is a bit much in these heels," she continued, sticking out her foot a bit to display her black pumps as she sidled into the corner opposite his.

Luke gave a small smile and nodded, drawing his eyes from her face, to the ground, to the row of numbers above the door that glowed softly as each floor was passed.

"Do you not speak English? Würden Sie perfer Deutsch?"

"I speak English perfectly well, thank you," Luke replied cooly, shifting his eyes in her direction.

"Oh, well..that's splended."

Luke grunted in response as the elevator halted on thirteen. The doors slid open slowly, far slower than he wanted, and he took a step forward, cane first, just as she did. He looked at her, somewhere between a glare and a sneer, and she motioned for him to go. He stepped into the hallway a few paces, before he turned and looked over his shoulder.

She was a few paces behind him, clutching her magazine and purse, one in each hand.

"I'm only taking the stairs," she said lightly, a hint of a smile on her lips. "The stairwell at this end of the building is closer to my room. I'm staying on eleven, and it was senseless for me to call that floor and make you wait. You look like a very important man." She looked his attire over. Dark gray suit with fine green stripes, long overcoat, a silk scarf of green and gold, a suitcase of black leather with gold initials branded on the side. And a cane, of golden metal and fantastic blue swirls around the handle. He was the epitome of professionalism in her eyes.

In his eyes, he was the very definition of illusionist.

"Yes, I am," Luke replied, smiling coldly, teeth glistening. "Good evening, miss." He turned and walked down the hall with her trailing behind. He stopped at his door, put his suitcase down and swipped the card in the handle. She gave a little wave as she walked by.

"See you around," she called as she continued down the hall and he pushed his door open.

"Hopefully not," Luke muttered under his breath as he made his way inside and closed the door behind him, deadbolting it for good measure.

* * *

Night had fallen on Stuttgart and the city was lit up like Asgard would be. Asgard. Luke stood near the floor to ceiling windows and ached slightly at the thought of his home. What he thought was his home.

He leaned against the cool glass of the window, clutching a glass of fiery liquid that Barton suggested he pack.

_You'll be in Germany, mind as well act German._

He had no idea what amber colored alcohol had to do with it, but he did admit that it created the illusion of warmth in the pit of his stomach. He looked across the city, the street lights and buildings glowed in a haze of rain. It never rained in Asgard. Every day was bright, the sun streaming between fluffy clouds. He would run in the fields, attempting to catch Thor, or Fandral, but never managing to catch up. It continued into adolescence, when he was still too slow on foot, but once he mastered magic-

A high pitch melody filled the room, tearing Luke's eyes from the warm light of the city. He peered into the dark room, his eyes adjusted quickly and located the glowing device that shimmied and sung on the large bed. He crossed the gap in three strides and picked up the device, squinting at its screen. A miniature version of the device was pictured on the screen, seizuring, and two large blocks of text were underneath it. Accept. Decline. Luke furrowed his brow and pressed his thumb over the green block.

"Hello sir," a voice said from the device. Luke looked at it, then his eyes widened. He remembered how to use this now. He clumsily pressed it to his left ear and sat the glass down on the bedside table to his right.

"Hello…" he mumbled cautiously as he sat slowly on the edge of the bed.

"It's Barton. No offense, but do you remember how to use the phone?"

"I am not so ignorant as to be unable to figure out some mortal's poor imitation of magic," Luke spat, sitting up on the bed, as though he could convey his body language to Barton. "I am a god and my knowledge is far more superior to those who made these…toys."

"I don't doubt it," Barton replied, a slight smile in his voice. "I don't mean to bug you, but I'm calling to check in. Make sure you made it and everything."

Luke raised a brow. "Bug me? Why would you place insects-"

"Bother, sorry. Are you at the hotel?"

"Why, yes, I am. I've made myself quite comfortable. The view here is terrific. Almost like ho-" Luke cut himself off and glared at the window, streaked with rain.

"Good. Reynolds seemed a bit distant when he came by so I just wanted to make sure he didn't do anything…foolish."

"Not at all, he obeyed wonderfully, as does anyone under my rule." Luke's face turned into a portrait of smug satisfaction.

"Correct, sir. I'll contact you again tomorrow. Remember, we came here early to double check our information and to set the trap. Your prerogative is to blend in, make a few acquaintances, and size up the situation. Most likely everything will go as we planned it, but I'd rather be safe than sorry when SHEILD is involved. And one more thing, sir. Try and act mortal." The line clicked and went out.

Luke removed the phone from the side of his face, a little disgruntled. Although he trusted Barton to handle such affairs, he was not particularly fond of being ordered around, especially when the orders were rather demeaning. Act mortal. What an insult. HE did not act mortal nor did he try to do anything with a mortal flair. And blending in? Gathering information? Why did he take Barton's suggestion of coming here a week before the event? Was it really necessary for Barton and him to scout the area and make sure everything matched the intelligence they had received? And if such a feat was necessary, why couldn't a lesser man, a mortal have done it instead? He was far above such trivial tasks.

He was burdened for glorious purpose.

He was the god of mischief and magic, lies and illusions.

He was Loki, of Asgard.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Thunder. That is how he woke up. A clash of thunder shook the floor to ceiling glass front of his room and made him sit straight up in his bed. His eyes were wide, darting left and right as he whispered the name over and over again.

Thor.

Loki ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, so damp he could almost pull physical droplets off the curled ends. He swallowed hard. He laid his arm across his propped knees and pressed the bridge of his nose with his left hand. After a few seconds of ragged breathing, he finally sighed.

Not even gods could escape nightmares.

He looked to the nightstand on his left, where the time in red digital letters was distorted through the glass of the unfinished scotch. He pushed it aside gently and let his eyes refocus on the numerals. 03:47. He rolled his eyes and groaned as he laid back down amid the mounds of covers and pillows. The bed was enormous, and thrash as he might in his sleep, he doubted he would disturb the other half. This bed was fit for a king. And a queen.

Loki eventually coaxed himself back to sleep, focusing on mortality and how humans slept a third of their life away. All the wasted time that could have been put to better use. Inventing. Planning. Scheming. Anything besides laying, defenseless, as the subconscious tormented you with your past and cloudy glimpses of future prospects. Anything was better than that.

_Act mortal._

The words lulled him from sleep. His room was no longer a black abyss pierced now and again by lightening. It was bathed in a gray light that was free of precipitation. Loki sat up, slowly, blinking as his eyes adjusted. He did not think he would ever get used to sleeping when he was so used to staying up for days, running off of his reserve of stamina. Too bad the travel between realms was such a detriment on the body.

He swung his legs out of the holds of the covers and stretched, yawning and feeling rather…mortal. A routine, a ritual. That is what they did upon waking. They feasted, they washed, they dressed and they took on the day. Or did they dress, wash, and then feast? Or was it wash, dress, feast? What was the order? He gritted his teeth as he tried to think of what he watched for years as he stood at the Gate of Asgard, looking down at earth, watching the human race crawl along, so insignificant compared to Asgardians. What did they do first when they woke from slumber?

Loki stood and ran his hands though his hair and immediately pulled them away. Damp. Still. He growled, louder this time, as his black locks fell in front of, to the side of, and every which way but back from his face. Bathed. That is what mortals did. They bathed first. Then they dressed. Then they feasted.

He started to pace the room, picking up clothes here and there, thinking about what he should conjure for the day. The scarf had to go. It was too classy for a run-of-the-mill, "collect intelligence and blend in" day. The coat was a bit much too, and the days in Stuttgart were warm. Perhaps something simple? A suit? No, still too stuffy. What else, what else? He tossed the coat and the scarf on the bed, and they immediately began to emit rays of gold light. His suit jacket soon joined, along with his tie, then his button-up shirt, which was damp from a fretful night, and his slacks. He stood, puzzling, his right hand cupping his chin as he stared at the pile of clothing, everything save for the undergarments. Why was he thinking of this now? Bathing came first. He tossed the last remnant onto the pile and walked into the bathroom.

Hot water. He now knew why mortals did this first. It was the best feeling, over his shoulders, through his hair, cleansing him of nightmares, washing away sweat and grime. He spent an inordinate amount of time just standing, thinking, staring at the drain or the wall, running through the ideas, the plans, the schemes. Gather information and blending in were minor compared to the big event. Eyeballs. Iridium. Being a sort of bait. Those were the exciting features of this week's little stint. Those were the events worth savoring. Not acting mortal. Not prancing around out of character, but rather standing firmly in character, acting as he should. A ruler. A king.

Amid pondering schemes and his agenda for the week, Loki managed to construct a wardrobe for the day. Since he would most likely just be roaming the city today, he wanted something a little less formal than the attire he arrived in. The long coat and scarf combo was out of the question, it weighed him down and just looked, well, pretentious. Not that he minded such an image, but for today it would attract too much attention. The slacks he would keep, for he did not really feel like thinking of an alternative, and the leather of Asgard would probably be seen as…kinky. He could not quite place why, but Loki felt that leather garments were seen in a different light here in Midgard.

All that left was the shirt. He was rather fond of the button up that was paired with the suit he usually donned, but he felt the tie was a bit constrictive. So he opted for a plain gray button up sans the tie. As he dressed in front of the full length mirrors, the effect was rather humbling. No gold, no leather, no armor whatsoever. He was vulnerable. And stuffy. He glared at his sleeves, buttoned down to the wrist, and the choking collar of the shirt. He was about to just change everything when he remembered another way to wear the shirt. He unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up his forearm, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of the shirt. He smiled, genuinely pleased with his appearance. Now he needed to equip.

He grabbed his wallet off the nightstand, remembering how Barton stressed it was essential that he carry his ID as well as his keys for the hotel around constantly. Then he slipped the chattering communication device into his pocket, which was also essential. Then he looked to his cane, which during the transformation of his clothing had resumed its natural state, a spear of about an arm's length with a curved tip that housed a glowing blue crystal. How was he going to manage to carry it around on his person now, since a cane was only truly acceptable in a state of elegance?

He creased his brow and stared at the staff, mulling and puzzling. How far could he stretch its physical limits before it refused to conform to his illusion? He glanced at the bedside table, out of frustration, and saw a pad next to the telephone with a writing implement. A pen. He smiled. A simple scale down, really, nothing too strenuous for his ability. He gently picked up the new gold and blue pen off the floor and dropped it into his pocket. There. Now he felt complete.

* * *

Breakfast was not as lavish as they had advertised. When they used the adjective "continental" Loki expected the spread to be, well, as large as a continent. He was beginning to quickly understand that he was not the only one capable of contorting the truth on Midgard and that hotel managers were equally dubious. Despite the small space that it occupied, the food still provided him with the sustenance that he required and after ten or so minutes of scrutinizing each flaky pastry or slick piece of fruit, Loki headed to a small table next to the glass wall of the solarium alcove. It was loosely populated with early risers and was secluded off the main dining area.

He gently set down his cup of orange juice and then slowly removed the two plates he was expertly balancing on his left forearm. He accrued a few strange looks when he balanced them at the buffet, laden with pastries and fruit, but he could not understand how the other patrons were fed by just a bowl of sugar coated grain and cow byproduct. Perhaps not everyone had the appetite of a god.

Loki pulled the plastic utensils from his back pocket and finally sat. He stared at the three plates and pondered which one to start with. Both the mountain of fruit and the layers of pastries looked promising.

"You sure are an early bird."

A strawberry was mere centimeters from his mouth before he lowered it and turned to give a look of disapproval to whoever interrupted his soon-to-be joyous mastication.

It was her. It would not be anyone else but her.

She slid across the tiled floor in worn out black Converse and dark, fitted jeans. Her attire improved the higher you went and her outfit was completed with a magenta blouse made of a silken material and a silver chain accenting the swooping neckline. She clutched the strap of her little black purse as she approached his table.

"Mind if I join you? Or are you already in company?" She eyed the three plates coyly.

"They are all for me," he replied, catching her glance. "I am rather ravenous this morning."

"Good, then you have space." She smiled sweetly as she pulled the other chair out.

"That wasn't an invitation," he growled, putting his utensils down completely.

"It wasn't a 'no' either." She placed her purse on the table and glanced towards the buffet.

Loki's lips curled into a snarl. He did not like this vexing creature, who manipulated his own words so easily against him.

"You can stay on one condition. That you do not attempt to lull me into pointless conversation that lacks all stimulation."

She smiled, perfect white teeth and lips the color of sea coral.

"I'm sure I'll be able to provide adequate stimulation."

Loki creased his brow as she rose and stabbed a strawberry angrily. She was already an annoyance and it was not even nine in the morning. Relax. Blend in. He replayed Barton's speech in his head a hundred times as he picked at his plate of fruit and swiftly moved onto to the pastry plate. He slowed his shoveling as she approached, a single plate in hand with a cup of something steamy in the other and an orange wedged between her right arm and her ribs. She set her plate and cup down then slid delicately into her chair.

"So, what brings you to Stuttgart, Germany? Business? Sightseeing? Visiting a friend?"

Loki chewed a bite of a cinnamon pastry that had heavy frosting on it slowly. She sure was nosy.

"Business," he replied curtly as he paused to take a sip of orange juice. It was acidic, tart. He quite liked it.

She looked at him, her head inclined in his direction as she sawed through a pile of syrup drenched cakes that he was almost tempted to get if it was not for their odd texture.

"And?"

He creased his brow at her. "And…nothing else."

"Okaaaaay. So, what type of business are you here for? Conference and meetings I take it?"

Loki mulled over another bite of pastry and was quite close to rudely standing up and walking away when a thought crossed his mind, one that made him pause. He was to gather intelligence on the area per Barton's instructions, or rather, suggestions, since they already had the necessary information to execute the mission. She could be of use after all.

"I'm here on a business trip. I'm actually attending the lecture to be held in a few days at the local art museum, the one that is part of the series that features innovative Germans, most specifically Dr. Enrich Schäfer's lecture on his latest breakthroughs in his research. I'm an affiliate of a company that is willing to join him in a business venture on this said research."

"Where is this company located?" Her tone was neutral and rather distracted as she scooped another forkful of pancake into her mouth.

"New York," Loki replied automatically. It was the one city in the United States that he could remember, since Selvig would not stop mentioning it and the location of a possible self-sustaining power source.

"Ah, I didn't know of any recent research that warranted a business venture. Then again, I don't much keep up with the stuffed shirt scientists. I'm more apt to follow the lab coats," she smiled as she polished off the last of her pancakes and reached for her cup.

Loki sighed slightly, out of relief. He was still the master of lies, even when his temper was less than in line. He mind as well keep the charade going.

"And how about you, miss? Why are you in this gray city?" He asked in the same neutral tone she used as he piled his empty pastry plate on his empty fruit plate, and pulled the third plate in front of him.

"Business, same as you actually. I'm attending Schäfer's lecture and thought I'd come in a week early to relax and sightsee. Maybe get a bit crazy at the expense of the company with room service and fine dining. And who doesn't need a week off now and again."

"Ah, that's where we differ." Loki placed a forkful of fluffy yellow unfertilized chicken embryos into his mouth and chewed slowly. "I make no plans to relax."

"Not even a little?" She asked, with just a hint of innocence in her voice as she clutched her cup to her cheek.

He glanced up at her. She seemed sweet, innocent, and just a tad bit too interested in his affairs. But she seemed promising. She was attending the same lecture as he was, seemed to be in the same field of work, or at least something similar to the science that this doctor was involved in, and would probably be willing to give him some inside details if he played his cards right. Good thing he always had the entire deck at his disposal.

"Well, I could be persuaded to forgo sitting about my hotel room, mulling over paperwork that's across an ocean for a few days, I suppose."

Her face brightened and she grinned.

"You seemed to have already loosened up. No suit and overcoat today, Mr. Business?"

Loki gave a small chuckle and wiped his mouth on a napkin. She was quick witted and had a tongue made out of something better than silver. Upon reevaluation he found that to be a quite likable feature.

She was still smiling at him. "I knew you'd open up if I badgered you enough."

He took a long gulp of orange juice and kept eye contact with her.

"And why did you badger me, miss? I am curious."

Her smile faded slightly.

"I assume you came here alone. No one was with you last night in the elevator and, on the off chance that I would see you again, I had a feeling that you would be by yourself. Business men don't usually travel with company, or, if they do, they seldom break the pack. That, and you are a bit…standoffish, so perhaps you are alone on purpose."

Loki raised an eyebrow but let her continue.

"Then of course, considering the new information I have obtained, you have arrived almost a week prior to the event which is your real reason for coming here. That leaves the possibility that you either really do have other business to attend to or needed a break from work and, like me, cleverly disguised the mini-vacation as a part of business."

"That still gives no explanation as to why you approached me." Loki took another sip of his orange juice, slowly, mulling over her analysis. He had to admit, she was quite impressive.

"Well, judging by the fact that you preferred English and had an accent, I could almost guarantee that you were not from around these parts. Ergo, taking into account all of the above information, I decided to take it upon myself to try to establish a relationship in efforts to perhaps show you around town and make your week semi-enjoyable."

Loki stared at her blankly. This woman had more depth than he had given her credit for, especially for a mortal.

"Well," he started, clearing his throat, "I think it is quite brave that you approached a complete stranger in order to attempt to establish a connection so that not only his, but your stay, may be more enjoyable. Very brace." And foolish, he added.

She smiled slightly, lifting her grey eyes from the plates to his.

"Well, I doubt we're strangers anymore. Proper time to introduce myself I suppose. My name is Anja Zimmermann." She extended her right hand.

He took it, gently in his own and smiled. "My name is Luke. Luke Asimov."

"Nice to meet you, Luke."

"A pleasure to meet you, Anja."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

After a few more minutes of introduction, Loki discovered that Anja Zimmermann knew Stuttgart almost as well as her own home, which was in Berlin, a mere six hours north of where they now were. She wanted to see the remote parts of the city and visit the remaining five star restaurants that were new to her. He wanted to stay close to the hotel and perhaps see the location of the lecture. Walking to downtown Stuttgart was the compromise.

The Remarkable Germans of the Year lecture series has been held at the Plaine Art Gallery for the past decade. Even though Anja was only twenty-six, she had been attending the meetings since its inception. Her father was once one of the renowned scientists in Germany and when she was sixteen, he brought her to the first lecture series as his guest. She was always interested in the sciences, but her love for it really took hold after that week. Despite her father's untimely death (of what she would not say) that had now made his research particularly nonexistent, she continued to come to the lectures during her last years of school and during college as part of her studies. The frequent visits had made her familiar with Stuttgart from a very young age.

"It was slightly terrifying, driving down here when I was eighteen," She recalled as they walked down the street the hotel was on towards downtown. "But by the second and third year I knew this city well enough to no longer be afraid. Plus it helped bringing boyfriends with me for a little vacation. Being six hours away with a hotel room to ourselves, it was every teen's paradise." She looked down, smiling, enveloped in memories.

Loki just looked at her blankly. Her frame of reference was completely different from his own. Boyfriend? He assumed she meant a friend who was male, but the way her inflection changed and her eyes glassed over with memories, he could be completely positive that it was more synonymous with lover than a friend. He had no frame of reference on that front. Only vague points to grasp at.

Thor was the center of female attention in Asgard. When they had reached adolescence, daughters of noblemen flocked to him during their breaks of private study. Thor and Loki would stroll the streets of Asgard when their teacher let them break, and as they walked girls would stretch their necks to catch a glimpse of his golden mane. They would whisper behind their hands and giggle as he passed, while Loki trailed in his shadow, overlooked, overcast by already rippling muscles and a love of strength. Not a single woman valued brains over brawn, magic over muscle. Not even when he tried to impress them. Or rather, her. He was so sure that Thor did not desire her hand in mar-

"See, I told you it wouldn't take us long to get to the city square."

Composed of the criss-crossing of six busy streets, Stuttgart Square looked impassable on foot. From where they stood, the art gallery lay directly to their right, hugging the curved one way street that passed in front of it. Across the street in front of them lay two parks, one laden with trees, the other with bricks and a fountain. A few churches lay beyond those and two behemoth towers broadcasting the names of the city's most prominent banks across the city. Spatially, it wasn't a huge town center, but it was packed with businesses and shops in every crevice. As Loki scanned back and forth he caught more each time. A theater next to the art gallery, the tower atop the art gallery that paralled the height of the banks and changed colors every few seconds, shops and restaurants stretched farther down the main street that passed in front of the gallery and headed off to the east.

"What do you think?" She asked, tugging at his left sleeve playfully.

"It's impressive. And busy."

She huffed and wrapped her right arm around his left.

"Come on then, Mr. Business, let's go for a walk."

She stepped off the sidewalk defiantly, dragging Loki with her. His eyes widened as they stepped into the street amid vehicles that darted from their right to the left. He may be a god, but he still did not prefer to be rolled over by a ton of metal and plastic traveling at high velocity. And since he was on Anja's right, he would take the brunt of the damage. How chivalrous.

The vehicles slowed surprisingly as they cross, some beeped irritably while others just waited patiently. Anja seemingly ignored them while Loki was just thankful it was a one way street. Once they made it to park on the other side, he let out a sigh of relief and wrestled his arm from her grip.

She gave him a small frown as he did and he almost visibly winced. He forgot how easily women's feelings were hurt, especially mortals. Although he held little to no experience in that area, he did watch an expert crush the hearts of noblewomen for ages. If anything, he was used to seeing the look of defeat on their faces.

He offered his arm to her and gave her a small grin.

"Apologies. I thought you were going to drag me to my death."

"There is only one way to cross a German street," she said as she gladly took his arm again.

The trees branched over the brick walkways and created a homogeneous canopy of foliage that kept the corporate towers from view. They sauntered underneath them, Anja clutching his arm gently with her hands, pointing out the churches, the buildings, or talking about the park itself. They wove their way through, with Loki only partially listening to her words. He was soaking up her information, but also performing a bit of reconnaissance himself.

The park, despite its central location, was sparsely populated. The other park with the fountain and statues was more active, with people littering the fountain steps taking early lunches and cutting across on their way to other locations. Beyond that park, and across the deadly one way street, was the art museum entrance. The building was too big to be completely dedicated to art and must also house offices on the upper floors. Perhaps there was even a way to access the blinking tower at the top.

"Luke. Luke. Luke!"

Loki did not snap his head in her direction until she tugged at his arm rather forcefully.

"What is it?" he growled back at her.

"Are you even remotely cognizant of what I am saying?" A variation of that hurt look crossed her face, but it was more of a irritated crinkling of a nose than a breaking of the heart.

"Honestly, no. My attention is rather monopolized by the structure of that building there." With that he motioned between the foliage to the art museum. "I'm quit perplexed that such a large building is completely filled with art. Forgive me, but the concept is new to me."

"Being from New York, you should be quite familiar with many large studios and art museums. Have you honestly never been to the Metropolitan? It's gigantic!"

He tilted his head at her and his lips twitched into a slight snarl.

"I don't have much time for relaxation or luxury, Miss Zimmermann. Even going to a museum seems too much of a hassle to fit into my ever tight schedule."

Her face softened and she smiled, tightening her hug his arm again as she looked up at him.

"Then why don't we fit it in now?"

There was more dragging involved but less dodging of moving vehicles as they made their way to the art museum. Black banners were draped across the high windows above the entrance, advertising in German the lectures that were to be held from May to October. Upon entering the museum, Loki's eyes were immediately drawn upwards to the vaulted ceiling inlaid with gold, red, and turquoise flowers. It was stunning, for the work of mortals, and although it did not compare with a single craft in Asgard, it was impressive from the point of view of humans.

Anja had released him upon crossing the threshold and bolted off to find a map of the museum while Loki strained his neck gazing at the ceiling. He started to take in the rest of the foyer as well. Marble staircases curved off the left and right to a balcony that overlooked the foyer. In the center a double headed horse statue, also made of marble, that could be used as a table if completely necessary. Or at least a place to slam a body forcefully.

"The art gallery is upstairs. Wanna go?" Anja was at the foot of the left staircase, her hand on the wooden railing expectantly.

Loki sighed and slid his hands into his pockets as he crossed the foyer.

She smiled and started up the staircase with him trailing behind. When she reached the top, she took off, already immersing herself in the paintings scattered around the second floor.

Loki stopped at the top and made his way to the middle of the curved balcony where the view of the foyer was optimal. The lecture would be held here. He could feel it. Underneath the balcony was an alcove where a microphone would be undoubtedly stationed. That is where his target would be. That is where he would strike. He surveyed the rest of the foyer rather lazily. The staircases were symmetrical. Stunning. They curved towards the alcove under the balcony. Again, predictable. He leaned his forearms against the railing and clasped his hands together. This was going to be insipidly easy.

"There are works of art from as far back as the thirteenth century as well as hundreds of local pieces of art up here and you would rather sulk by the balcony."

Loki turned his head slowly to his right in her direction.

A mechanical click sounded and she gave a playful smile, her tongue sticking between her teeth. She had a rectangular device held between the index fingers and thumbs of each hand pointed in his direction.

"Though I have to admit, you make a pretty fantastic work of art yourself."

"What are you doing…" Loki asked slowly, straightening his torso slowly.

"Just documenting a rather startled Luke brooding on a balcony is all."

He stepped forward, his brows creased, obviously not satisfied with the answer.

"Let me see."

"Sure," she obliged, turning the device in his direction.

Loki frowned. It was a copy of him, except smaller. A photograph. He was leaning on the railing, hands clasped. He was turned, both eyes focused on the face behind the device. Torso cocked slightly, one foot behind the other, legs slightly crossed. Gray shirt. Black slacks. He was disgusted with how mortal he looked, how harmless he looked when he was everything but.

"The best photographs are the ones taken naturally without being staged, even though those are fun."

"What will you do with it?" Perhaps the unease he felt with this girl was well placed, and she was actually a spy, preparing to send the photo to SHEILD or whatever other agency that would attempt to stop him before he could get what Barton and Selvig needed for the portal stabilizer.

"Just keep it. A fun little memory to take back home when the lecture is over."

Any other answer would have warranted her a swift death upon returning to the hotel.

"Is that acceptable?" She tilted her head, her playful tone edged with slight unease.

"Yes, it is fine."

"I won't post it online or anything, if you're that particular about it."

"I would appreciate that sentiment."

"Alright, I can do that." She slipped the device into her small bag. "Ready to go get cultured?"

* * *

Loki followed Anja around the museum for the rest of the afternoon and onto early evening. The art collection grand, spanning well over five floors. Anja felt the need to scrutinize every piece of art for at least five minutes, turning what he thought would take a few hours into a day long expedition. Amid her staring he managed to confirm that the lecture would be held in the foyer and that, if this year was the same as last year, Dr. Schäfer would be speaking from the middle of the alcove. Perfect. Loki even managed to coax Anja into taking a ride to the tower at the top of the museum.

"You mean to tell me you've been coming here for ten years and you have yet to scale the tower? I'm disappointed."

"It's not really my kind of thing."

"What are you? Scared?" He teased, scrunching his face at her mockingly.

That was all it took for her to puff out her cheeks and walk defiantly towards the elevator shaft in the back corner of the second floor. After a breakneck, nonstop ascent, the doors opened revealing a glass room with two doors that led out to the balcony of the tower. The balcony was protected with a heavy mesh casing, preventing any unlikely plummets to the ground some forty stories below.

Loki eagerly opened a glass door, the wind howling as he did so. He could see all of Stuttgart from up here. In mere seconds he had the entire city mapped from the entrance of the museum, a tool that may prove useful on Thursday evening.

"Not a bad view, is it?"

The wind met him with a gusty response.

He turned and saw Anja standing by the elevator, her arms clasped across her chest. He smiled and beckoned her to come out as he pushed his wind whipped hair behind his ears. She shook her head defiantly and mouthed something.

_I want to go back down._

He pulled the glass door ajar, sticking his head inside.

"Why do you want to go back down? I thought you wanted to see the sights of the city. You can see the entire city from here. And how can you pass it up, when the sun is actually out for once in this forsaken gray city?"

She back-stepped towards the elevator, cautiously.

"I am not a fan of heights."

Defiance and weakness, given away in a single sentence. Loki had to restrain himself from smiling viciously, devouring her fear like a serum. He slowly extended his hand to her, still hanging in the doorway.

She eyed him warily, like a wild animal being offered a hand to sniff.

He motioned towards the balcony with a toss of his head.

"Come on. There is a railing and even a safety net if the wind manages to lift you up and over the railing. There is nothing to fear." Except for maybe me, he thought.

She took a step forward, hesitantly, and placed a small hand into his. He pulled her gently through the door and towards the railing, though he could feel her heels digging into the concrete floor. The wind was intense in speed, but not unbearable, although it was slightly chilly. He stepped backwards towards the railing and offered her his other hand, which she took willingly. Her eyes were forced to the floor.

He backed up until he brushed against the railing, and then he slowly pulled her towards it. He transferred her hands to the railing and then stepped behind her, placing his hands on the railing on either side of her body.

"See, it's not so bad," he whispered in her ear so he could hear him over the wind, his chin almost resting on her shoulder.

He could tell she had looked up when he felt her shudder and back into his chest. Loki felt a moment of panic when he thought she might thrash like a caged animal, but he instinctively drew his body closer to the railing, pushing her towards it.

Anja was pinned now, between the railing and his hips, and she stood still. Her breathing was rapid and when he drew back slightly to look at the side of her face he expected her eyes to be screwed shut against the forty story view. They weren't.

Her eyes darted left and right and back again, taking in every detail, amazed at the structure and beauty of the city that she had visited for so long.

"I've…I've never seen it like this," she half-shouted.

Loki smiled, almost sweetly, and pulled away from her back. He moved to her left, still keeping his right arm across her back gripping the railing.

"It's beautiful, is it not?"

"Very." She smiled at him. "Thank you."

"For what?" He asked, a tone of complete innocence and a smile of satisfaction across his face.

"For giving me the city."

* * *

The walk back to the hotel was silent, a grand improvement upon the walk to the public square earlier in the day. Loki was also relieved that Anja didn't cling to his arm, although seemed distracted though, her eyes downcast to the brick sidewalks, studying the vegetation that sometimes snuck its way between the fired clay blocks. The sun had finally started to peak through the gray veil once they arrived at the top of the tower and now it was fully embracing the city, stretching their shadows behind them as they walked towards the hotel.

They headed silently towards the elevators and once inside, Loki pushed the eleventh button. The doors slide shut and they ascended at a snail's pace in comparison to the museum tower's elevator.

"Is something amiss?" He broke the silence more for his own comfort rather than her own.

"Not at all. I'm just thinking."

"Ah."

"No one has ever made me do something against my will before. I guess there is a first time for everything" She didn't snap or yell. She said it firmly, as a matter of fact.

He looked at her. Her light eyes were finally trained on him, though they were not set in look of disapproval. Although he could argue the validity of him "making" her go to the top of the tower, he didn't feel like wasting his breath on such a trivial issue. The elevator came to a stop and Anja glanced at the illuminated number then back to him. His lips curled slightly and he shrugged as he stepped out of the elevator.

"Why my floor?"

"You once put yourself in a similar situation, and I am merely returning the favor."

The sound of a few hurried steps and the familiar grip returned to his right arm.

"Thank you."

He could tell she was smiling just by the pitch of her voice and in a way, it didn't entirely sicken him, only partially. It was nothing more than the sign of confidence gained.

She pulled him to a stop outside a door that was two down from the stairwell on the back side of the hotel. She opened her purse and scrounged for her keycard. Upon producing it, she turned, still smiling.

"It was a nice afternoon."

"Yes, thank you for showing me the square." He smiled and slid his hands into his pockets.

She looked up then and smiled. She was so easy to please, if smiles were any tell of happiness, it was somewhat troubling. Mortals were just easy to please.

"I had been coaxed a thousand times to go to the top of that tower, and had never once set a foot inside that elevator before until today. That view…I should have taken a picture because I doubt I can ever go back up there without your assistance."

He grinned, rather deviously.

"I am a master of persuasion."

"I'll say you are indeed practiced in the method of it," she said, giggling. "Perhaps I could try my hand at it. Would you like to get some dinne-"

"Actually, I am rather weary," he interjected, faking a slight yawn as he ran his hand through his hair. "I was up far earlier than when you cornered me in the dining area doing…well, business things. I fear I must turn in early."

"Oh, right. Sorry about that. I tend to come on a bit strong."

He smiled and waved the notion away. He was then about to say his regrettable goodnight, since it was only seven in the evening, when she moved towards him. He was completely unprepared, unarmed, his left hand in his pocket wrapped around his pen, the other hand still midair from the wave, when she attacked. It was swift and silent. She approached and stood on tip toe, since the top of her head barely broke level with his shoulders, and then she delivered the blow. The gentlest brushing of lips against his cheek.

"Thank you for the wonderful afternoon. I hope to see you tomorrow."

She unlocked her door and was gone before his right hand lowered to his side.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Vixen. Harpy. Whore.

Loki's initial reactions to Anja's kiss were far from reasonable, at least in a Midgardian light. He stood for a solid two minutes outside her door, his mouth slightly agape, his brow slightly furrowed, his right hand still stuck in the limbo between the wave and his side. Once the shock wore off, he walked, almost ran, to the stairwell, scaled the two flights of steps, and locked himself in his room.

He had used her, rather brilliantly, for the confirmation of minor details. He even managed to act mortal with her assistance, for one day, but there were six and a half more days until the lecture with which he needed, or rather wanted, her help to bide time. Sure, he could seal himself up and nurse the bottle of liquor, which had little to no effect on him as far as impairment was concerned, and stare blindly at the television, but what that really useful? Not when he could be roaming Stuttgart with Anja as his mortal catalyst, getting to know, for just a brief moment, how the people he would soon rule operated.

He remembered Odin's wisdom that he distributed in pockets here and there throughout his youth. A good king must be in tune with those that he ruled, so that he may rule them well. Loki did not want to start his kingship under the pallor of ignorance for his people's needs, although his own desires would outweigh theirs initially. He wanted to be like Odin in not only power, but respect, and respect would only be given if he listened to his people and acted as if they were his equal. Styles of ruling would have to wait for another time, when his head was clear, and not full of the meddling siren's kiss.

Sleep was the only way to deal with the issue. Barton's alcohol was too weak, and held no candle to Asgardian wine, and would prove useless to drown his sorrows in. Thus, the only alternative was to sleep, escape into dreams, or, at this point, Loki would settle for nightmares as well. Anything to rid him of the misplaced feeling that washed over him as Anja pressed her soft lips ever so gently against his cheek…

He growled and stepped away from the door and through the living room. With a wave of his hand, the screens fell over the floor to ceiling windows as he walked around the bed to his side. He emptied his pockets of their contents and, for safe measure, restored the staff to its original form before leaning it against the back of an arm chair that faced the window. Then he flung himself onto his bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes, burying his face in the mound of pillows.

Mortal women are evil. Sleep, sleep. Give me dreams, give me nightmares.

* * *

Loki remembered when he first met her, and how from that first day, there was something about her that he fancied.

He was no more than eight, running through the halls of the palace, desperately trying to track down Thor, Fandral, and Volstagg in an intense game of hide and seek. After two hours of scouting it was no longer intense to Loki, but just irritating.

Determined to not give up, and also determined to find them, he headed to the one person who would always know where Thor was: their mother, Frigga. Thor didn't say anything against about outside assistance or using it at all.

"Mother, mother!" Loki called as he ran down the hall to her chambers. "Mother, do you know where Thor is, I'm trying to find him for a ga-" Loki paused upon pushing her chamber door open.

It was not custom for the Queen to have private audiences in her own chambers, but the woman present seemed to be a close friend of Frigga's. They were in the receiving room, lounging on sofas, chatting idly when he burst in, diverting their attention. Frigga smiled, as she often did when Loki was around, and let out a small laugh. Her friend turned, slightly bewildered, and then looked to Frigga with wide eyes. It was forbidden for males, even children, to come into the Queen's chambers. She just smiled and shook her head, dismissing such a rule for the sake of Loki.

"What is it that you ask, my dear son?" Frigga asked, smiling and extending her arms towards him.

Loki took a hesitant step forward, looking around cautiously. "I'm not interrupting a manner of business, am I, mother?"

"Oh no, my dear Loki, we are just conversing, as noblewomen often do. Come here, my son." She beckoned to him rapidly.

Loki smiled and stepped forward. "Mother, I was wondering if you knew where Thor was. I have been searching for him all afternoon and have had no hope whatsoev-" He cut off suddenly and stopped in his tracks, startled by what he saw as his eyes lazily scanned the room.

She sat on a small stool, not an arm's length from the long couch that his mother and her friend were reclined on. She sat straight, her hands clasped in her lap, with her straight raven hair cascading over her shoulders already, though she must have been just a year younger than he. Two jeweled clips pulled back tuffs of her hair at her temples from her face, which was as smooth as porcelain and just as fair. Her skin was light, but not as light as her fine linen dress, which hung from a wide collar and pooled slightly at her feet.

He gaped slightly at her then looked to his mother, who was smiling sweetly.

"This is Sif, daughter of Mayim, my dear friend," Frigga said as she gestured to the girl. "Sif, this is my youngest son, Loki."

"How do you do, Prince Loki," Sif replied automatically, in a strong, yet monotone, voice, as she rose and clutched her dress in a deep curtsy.

Loki bowed his head slightly in her direction, then looked back at his mother expectantly.

"Thor is in the central garden amid the maze," Frigga responded, looking towards the ceiling. "He is with company."

"Thank you, mother," Loki smiled, bowed slightly, and was about to turn and leave when he stopped and turned again to his mother and Mayim. "May Sif be allowed to come and play with us, Madame Mayim?"

Mayim balked at Loki's request and turned to Frigga, who smiled and nodded in approval.

"I promise to escort her and not let harm come to her, for we tend to play rather roughly," Loki added as an excuse formed on Mayim's lips.

"I can take care of myself rather well, thank you."

Loki turned towards Sif, who rose slowly clutching her skirts. She was strong, in not only voice, but attitude. He quite liked that about her already.

"What say you mother, may I go?"

Mayim blinked slowly and again looked to Frigga for guidance, who had resorted to just smiling. Finally, she caved.

"Y-yes, you may go, but be careful, my dear daughter. And try not to dirty your dress. You do not have many that are completely void of stains."

"Thank you, mother!" Sif smiled, curtsied, then gathered her skirt as she approached the doors.

Once they were in the hall, she let out a heavy sigh and released her skirts, letting them brush the marbled halls.

"Thank you for saving me. I would have surely died of boredom within the hour. Their prattle does not concern me."

Loki smiled, sweetly, and offered her his arm. "Tis' no problem, my lady. It's my duty to rescue damsels in need."

"Do not think for a moment that I am a helpless damsel," Sif spat as she playfully took his arm.

"I never said you were helpless."

"Good. It would have been a grave mistake on your part." She smiled at him as they traversed the corridors.

Loki couldn't help but smile back.

Thor was less than pleased when Loki and Sif arrived in the garden maze. He glowered at her from where he stood atop the inactive fountain. He motioned for Loki to come forward as he climbed down.

"She is but a woman!" Thor hissed under his breathe. "What possesses you to bring her here and play when we are surely too rough for her kind?"

"She is strong, and has…heart," Loki replied quietly, placing an arm around Thor's shoulders as they turned their backs. "Do you not also find her pretty?"

Thor creased his brows at Loki. Thor was two years his elder and even he did not have "feelings" for women yet, and the notion that Loki may have excelled over him in any area, especially this one, did not place him in a friendly mood. He was about to reply when he heard Fandral speak behind him.

"Well, are you not an example of nobility?" He cooed as he paced around Sif, running a hand through his golden hair, already working on his charm at the young age of ten. "Such a clean, well kept dress, it would be a shame to have it soiled. Perhaps you should just sit and watch us play, my dear lady."

Sif narrowed her grey eyes at him as he circled her, balling her skirt in her fists. Once he completed his circuit, he stopped in front of her and leaned in close to her face, smiling.

"Wouldn't want you mussing your hair either. Your mother would probably be very, very upset." He laughed a little, and turned, raking his hand through his locks again.

In the next instant, Fandral was on the ground with Sif sitting on his back, pinning him. In one fluid movement, she had jumped on him and brought most of her skirt around his neck and now she was seated on him, pulling her skirt back as though it were reins and he were a stead. It had happened so quickly, Loki, Thor, and Volstagg just stared in shock as Fandral clawed at the grass and then started pulling at the fine linen digging into his throat.

Sif gritted her teeth and huffed and as quickly as she attacked, released him. Before rising she rustled her hands through his hair roughly.

"Be careful not to muss your hair," she spat as she stood. She looked over to Loki then and a trace of a smile danced across her face.

"You choose well, brother. She's a warrior. She can stay." Thor's eyes were wide as he turned to Loki. "Just ensure she doesn't choke me."

Loki laughed and gave his brother a solid pat on the back. "Not afraid of their kind, are you brother?"

Thor growled and rolled his eyes as he pushed past Loki to introduce himself properly to Sif. Volstagg followed suit, and then, with extreme caution, Fandrall extended his welcome. They played until evening, and then the next day when Mayim brought her back. And the day after that. And everyday that she could, Sif came to the palace to play.

* * *

She was brilliant. That's what he admired most about her, that even though she had the heart of a warrior, she did not let the concept consume her as his brother did. She was as well versed in literature as she was in sword play. Could scale an obstacle course as well as sing and dance and even play the lyre. She was a noblewoman first and a warrior second, and that is what he liked about Sif: she had her priorities in order.

When the days of playing in the gardens had long since passed, and education had become more central, Sif visited the palace less frequently. Yet she still managed to visit Loki at least once a week. They would walk the grounds and talk about their studies, for even though she was a year younger, they were at the same level in their private studies, for she had accelerated beyond her age's normal parameters. He would let her talk of sword play, too, and physical training, because it made her happy. The way she came alive when she spoke of new techniques, how her eyes softened and her lips curled into a smile, it made Loki feel…calm. If he could just listen to her ramble on about dagger throwing for an afternoon instead of sitting in the family library, pouring over volumes of ancient magic books, then it was an afternoon well spent.

As the afternoon gave way to evening, he would always take her to the central garden, where they played over a decade ago and have her sit at the fountain while he displayed the latest spell or illusion he mastered. She would fold her hands on her knees and smile at him expectantly, waiting to be awed.

"This one is going to be good," He boasted as he walked to the thick wall of the maze.

"It better be, Loki, because the ice daggers are getting a bit old."

He would shoot her a glare, but she would only smile, her tongue poking between her teeth. She tormented him so.

"This one will be awe worthy," he declared as he spread his arms wide. Then he straightened his torso, standing as tall as he could, and ran a nervous hand through his chin length hair. He was quite tall now, only a few inches shy of Thor, and at the age of twenty, he doubt he would grow much taller. This was the age when you stopped counting, because it wasn't really necessary anymore. Your body aged so slowly after this point that the number of years that passed was insignificant. Asgardians were immortal after all, or at least had ridiculous accounts of longevity as a whole.

He looked at Sif and gave her one last quick smile before he relaxed his face and became stoic. He stood like this for several minutes, during which she started to fidget.

"Come on, Loki, where is your trick?"

He stood, staring, unresponsive.

She stood and took a step forward. "This isn't much better than ice daggers," she grumbled as she strode towards him. "Let us stop playing now." She raised her hand to grasp his right shoulder…and passed completely through him.

She stood in shock, staring up at the blue eyes of what she was sure was Loki. Panic started to set in and she stepped back, glancing around the garden, fumbling for the dagger she always kept at her belt. She looked back and Loki was still there but he seemed…thinner, almost transparent, and soon he disappeared entirely.

"Loki…?" Sif's chest began to heave as the panic settled in her heart, her mind, and she readied her lungs to yell, not only his name, but for assistance, when a familiar dark laugh came from the right wall of maze.

She turned, dagger at the ready, as Loki stepped out from behind the bush wall, grinning and cackling, holding his sides as he stepped towards the fountain. It took a few seconds for events to rearrange themselves in her brain, but once they were in order, she narrowed her eyes at Loki.

"That…was not funny…" Sif growled between clamped teeth and she steadied her hand and sheathed her dagger slowly.

Loki continued to laugh, though not as vehemently, and wiped fake tears from his eyes.

"You face, you were so-so petrified!"

"It was not in jest! I was worried about you! I thought you had been bewitched or captured or-or something foul!"

Loki straightened from his doubling over in a fit of laughter. Sif's tone was genuine. She was worried. The look of panic and terror was still in her eyes as she stomped towards him, but no tears. She drew the line at that, but nothing could hide that shrill edge her voice had when she was truly upset.

"Never, EVER, do that again!" She snapped as she advanced and Loki put his hands up in mock surrender. "I would rather you form a thousand ice daggers than frighten me like that again."

"Easy, easy," he coaxed. "I thought warriors had no fear."

She glared at him, her grey eyes quickly pooling with rage.

"Would it help if I showed you the true illusion? It can be quite useful in combat."

She blinked. Combat. That got her attention. He motioned for her to take a seat on the fountain again as he straightened and puffed out his chest smile. He gave her another smile, which she returned only halfheartedly, and then spread his arms out again. Two copies of himself materialized, one on either side of him, staring at Sif with the same smile he still wore on his face.

"Rather impressive, don't you think?" He asked while the copies continued smiling. "I haven't quite figured out how to get them to move in a more life-like manner, but that will come in time."

Sif stared at him, well, three of him, glancing from copy to copy before she looked back at the original. He lowered his arms and they faded slowly and then disappeared completely. She sat silently and slowly folded her hands in her lap. He sat next to her on the marble and placed his left arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him in a friendly hug.

"I apologize for confounding you, Sif. I am just an outstanding magician."

She smiled at that and lightly jabbed him in the ribs with her right elbow.

"There's that smile." He smiled and tapped her nose with his right index finger.

Her smile faded at that and she looked him over then looked back into his blue eyes. She let out a ragged breathe. Loki swallowed hard and noted their closeness, that her right hand remained on his thigh after she jabbed him in the ribs, that he had her corned, locked in his grip as his left arm circled her shoulders. He leaned slightly towards her-

A rustling in the bushes sounded off to his right and he immediately sent a dozen ice daggers flying in that direction. Cursing ensued as Thor stood, an ice dagger sticking from his shoulder.

"You are quick, but not accurate, brother. The others missed me."

Loki scowled and stood, about to berate Thor for spying when he idly continued walking forward, pulling the dagger from his now dented armor.

"Sif is needed by her mother at home. Some task pertaining to a marriage, if I recall."

Sif gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth.

"My sister's! Oh, how could I be so foolish. Yes, of course." She made her way past Thor and then stopped abruptly. "Thank you for the wonderful afternoon, Loki," she said quickly as she turned and back stepped from the fountain. And then she was gone.

Loki narrowed his eyes at Thor, who just beamed and clasped him on the shoulder.

"Shall we dine, brother?"

* * *

Six years had passed since that day in the central garden. Not that Loki kept track, he just knew it had been some time since he last saw Sif at the palace for anything other than business. Today was her Mark of the Warrior examination, and her, being the only female in Asgardian history to attempt such a feat, required a special audience, one that consisted of not only the panel of great warriors, but of also the royal family.

At dawn, Loki had woken and bathed and dressed in his finest garb, which were really just a variation of his usual black leathers and armor with the addition of a green cape and his stag-like golden helmet. Dressing in such attire was not a time-consuming task. He was also given the charger of rousing Thor for today's events and that task itself was time-consuming.

He walked down the corridor with his helmet cradled in his left arm. As he rounded the corner, Thor's chamber door opened. Loki stopped, puzzled that Thor would be up so early. A figure emerged, small and frail and wrapped in the linen of a sheet. A chambermaiden, but a maiden no longer. She glanced down the hall, and when she caught Loki's eye she stopped, and bowed low, almost losing her sheet in the process. She gathered it tightly around her, and then scampered off down the other end of the hall, nervously looking around.

Loki gritted his teeth together and knitted his brow as he crossed to Thor's doors. He didn't even bother to knock. He just threw them up.

"Get up, you scandalous swine, I know you are already awake!"

"Oh, brother, do be polite…" groaned Thor from his bed. "Did you even knock?"

Loki waved an arm and the curtains lifted swiftly, drowning the room in the early morning's light. Thor groaned louder and turned over in his bed. The room was a disaster, littered with clothes and goblets that reeked of stale wine.

"One does not need to knock when doors are left ajar by chambermaidens who slip out in the morning after vile deeds have been done."

Thor chuckled lightly as he swathed the covers around him.

"You should indulge, dear brother, I have heard chatter among them. You are most desirable."

Loki growled and set his helmet down on the chest at the foot of the bed lightly. He whispered something under his breath and then pointed at Thor's bed sheets. They began to smoke and then caught aflame, and it wasn't long before Thor was thrashing about only to land promptly on the floor. That brought Loki some satisfaction as he waved his hands and the flames died, leaving the linen unscathed.

"Loki, what is your aim? To roast me in my sleep?" He sprawled on the floor, naked and disorientated, his golden mane a disheveled mess.

"You must dress, we have business to attend to today."

"You know, if you took your frustrations out in a different manner, maybe you wouldn't be so off-putting of a person overall."

"I will not partake in the heinous activity of deflowering chambermaids for sport!" Loki's voice rang in Thor's bedchamber. He did not often raise his voice and such an action took Thor off guard.

"I am not like you, dear brother," Loki spat as he continued. "I have a supply of dignity left."

Thor stood, slowly, weakened by lack of sleep and over consumption of wine, but still managed to position his bare broad shoulders in a menacing fashion.

"It is not a sport. It is akin to training." His tone was serious.

Loki scoffed. "Training? Training? You cannot seriously convince yourself of that and sleep with a clear conscious."

"I do," replied Thor as he walked the room, picking up his garments slowly. "I wish to one day please my wife beyond measure, and to do so, one needs practice. It'd be unfortunate to hear what your wife has to say one day, brother." He grinned mischievously.

"You 'practice' with your wife, you fool! She should have nothing to compare to and thus any experience will be profound. That's the point! Argh, nevermind, we are not discussing this anymore." Loki pressed the bridge of his nose between his the finger of his right hand. "My brother, the prince of immoral intimacy," Loki spat.

"And my brother, the prince of wisdom and magic, who lacks all experience in any physical feat."

Loki flopped in a chair near the high windows, glaring as he spread his legs out before him.

"At least I still have my morals."

"As do I, for I will keep nothing from my intended wife."

"Oh please, like you have been bothering with finding a wife. Mother hounds you daily and nightly, and still you insist that being a warrior is more important and you disappoint her every time you utter no."

Thor smiled as he picked up the last of his garments. "I have expressed my feelings of marriage to one maiden, but she has yet to give me an absolute answer."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Of course, of course. Her answer is probably contingent on whether or not you take on an army of trolls single-handedly, or bed no more chambermaidens until the wedding, am I correct?"

"No. It is contingent on whether or not she becomes a warrior today."

Thor turned slowly and made his way to the bath while Loki sat, consumed in a moment of anger, jealously, and betrayal.

There was only one woman in Asgard who ever attempted to become a warrior, and only one woman who would be attempting to gain that title today.

Sif.

He sat next to his mother, unimpressed during the exam, unimpressed when the new warriors were named, and unresponsive during the celebratory dinner that followed.

He watched the warriors display their skills. Archery, mixed martial arts, magic. Swordplay. He passed judgment on each of them silently. When she stepped forward, he pretended not to see her. He just stared listlessly outside, marveling over how Asgard shone in the daylight.

When she completed her demonstration, she bowed low and as she walked in front of the royal family she smiled and nodded to each. When she reached his eyes, her smile faded and she cast her eyes down. At least she understood in with the minimal amount of words that she had fallen from his graces.

It was obvious that she would be chosen as an Asgardian warrior. Not only was she more skilled than the other participants, but she was a woman, a fierce woman, one who would be feared throughout the nine realms. Sif, the goddess of war.

The dinner was less formal than the exam. Free of his helmet and cape, Loki kept to the shadows at the edges of the room and interacted little with the company. He sat between Thor and Frigga during dinner, drawn into conversation little by each party, and tried his best not to look down the table at her, her hair pinned back in the same way it was when she was seven and seated properly next to her mother, a noblewoman's daughter, not a warrior. A sweet girl with a love for knowledge as much as swordplay. Now swordplay had won and her knowledge was forgotten, replaced by battle tactics and combat moves.

After dinner was formally over, Loki stood, excusing himself for the evening. He retreated without so much as wayward glance around and headed to one place he knew he could be alone.

The central garden was silent except the babble of the fountain. He sat on its granite edge, running his hand through the water slowly, alternating between freezing and thawing it. Over and over. Freeze, stop, thaw, flow.

"I would have expected you to stay longer."

He stopped.

"Not many people possess the ability to sneak up on me."

Sif sat next to him, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Why did you leave? Are you not proud?"

"I am plenty proud, I just…needed to leave. That is all."

"Loki, please, if something is troubling you and I can help, let me know."

"You have done enough, Sif. Or should I say, Lady Sif." The venom in his voice was apparent.

Her eyes darkened slightly. "Thor…did he do something to upset you?"

"It wasn't so much a deed of his own, but one that he performed in tandem," Loki scoffed.

"I do not understand…"

"How can you not understand, dear Lady Sif, Thor's intended bride?" He glared at her, his eyes cold as the ice he formed in the fountain.

She stared at him, her eyes beginning to glisten with the oncoming storm of tears.

"Loki…I am sorry, I-"

"Don't apologize to me. What have you done? Besides ignore me for the past six years while you busied yourself with training? What happened to the woman who loved learning and magic?"

"I still love learning, just a different kind of learning. Physical learning. Warrior techniques. And I still love magic, I admire it becau-"

"Lies!" Loki shouted, standing. "You cannot just sit here and tell me these lies! If you loved magic, you would have never stopped coming to the palace!"

"Magic exists outside of this palace, Loki. Many Asgardians can conjure illusions. You are not the only one."

"Oh, I am well aware of that," he hissed. He spread his arms to his sides and sneered. "Let's see if you remember this little illusion." He had had years of practice while she busied herself with her warrior training. His illusions were far greater than they were six years ago. And far more intimidating. He was about to cast his copies around her, confuse and ensnare her, use the forces he should have from the beginning, when she stood, slowly.

She stepped forward and raised a hand to his right cheek, breaking his resolve. He lowered his arms as she closed the distance between them. She looked at him, scanning his eyes and his face, her fingers splaying across his angular features. He restrained himself from nuzzling into her hand, brushing her palm with his lips.

She closed the final inches between them, placing her hand on his left shoulder as she stood on her tiptoes. On his left cheek she placed the smallest gift coupled with three words: a kiss of bittersweet intensity and "I am sorry."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

They were never married. The thought was in the eaves of Loki's consciousness as he woke. After Sif was deemed a warrior, no word was uttered of her marriage to Thor. Or to him. After her apology in the garden, it did not take her long for her to join the others in poking fun at his expense. She went from defending him to abandoning him in a matter of weeks. Finally, the events that followed Thor's banishment brought an impenetrable iron wall between them, never to be punctured, scaled, or burrowed under. Loki would think and even tell himself that he was at peace with such matters, but even that was a lie. He could lie to other people with ease, but lying to himself took a bit of…conviction.

He sat up slowly, having turned on his back in the night, and looked around the room. It was dark with the shades drawn and impossible to tell the time of day. The clock on the table read 11:37. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had almost slept an entire day. Memories worked as a better sedative than good dreams, which were far and few in between.

Loki stretched and yawned and waved a hand to raise the screens as the fading morning light crept slowly into his room. He stood, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, and letting it fall off his shoulders where it may as he sauntered to the bathroom. He stepped out of his shoes and stripped down completely, becoming quite fond of morning showers to wake him up. Maybe mortals did not have the worst morning routine after all.

He stood under the hot water, repeating yesterday morning's ritual, staring at the drain as the water ran over his shoulder blades and down his back. Sif, Sif, Sif. With each minute that passed her name faded from his memory. The walks around the palace, the light way she laughed, the stops in the central garden, the cool granite of the fountain bench, her hand lightly on his thigh, his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her closer-

Loki bit his lip, hard, forcing the memory down, locked away where it should be. He had many years of practice keeping such memories in check, but when left to his subconscious, they began surfacing more frequently. He blamed The Other for fracturing his once solid resolve. _If you fail, there is no place in the universe you can hide where we won't find you. _ A threat and nightmarish touch to the temple, enough to engrave the encounter into his memory to make sure he would not forget the cost. The cost of failing, the cost of betraying. A fate worse than death.

Loki gripped the shower wall, panting slightly, his anxiety getting the better of him. He would be lying to himself if he thought he wasn't terrified. He was fearless in the face of mortals and alien races like the Chitauri, but before gods whose power even he did not know the depths of, he lost his grip on his fear and he was, in the simplest sense, frightened for his immortal life. Humans viewed Asgardians as immortal because, in comparison to Midgardian life spans, they seemingly were, but the gods knew that wasn't entirely true. Gods could kill each other, some with ease. And that is what was truly frightening about _him_. He welcomed death, courted her, and would have no qualms with throwing Loki into the underworld just to catch a glimpse of her beauty.

He was nothing more than a pawn in the grand scheme of things, a pawn would be knighted if he kept up his end of the bargain. But everything had a price. How much was he willing to sacrifice?

He shut off the water and wrung out his hair multiple times. It was thick and absorbed water like a parched man's tongue. He pulled a towel off the rack, did a poor job of drying off, and wrapped the towel around his waist as he sauntered back into the bedroom. He started picking up clothes again, thinking about what costume to construct next, as well as how to pass the day as the ends of his hair curled, collecting drops of water for a brief instant before they fell. He continued just walking around, thinking, cleaning, and straightening rather absent mindedly as he would often do back in his chambers at Asgard.

He loathed the servants there, and always required that they knock thrice before entering, and even then only after he had given them permission. Needless to say, Loki preferred to tidy up after himself. It was less about him having any secrets that the servants might uncover while cleaning (although he did have a few books that he was sure Frigga would disapprove of, for she wasn't too keen on advanced magic and illusions) and more about just having somewhere sacred where only he was in control. Even now he kept the Do Not Disturb sign around the doorknob of his hotel room to ward off any contact with the hotel staff. He felt uneasy just thinking about other people, mortal or not, musing around his chambers when he wasn't around.

As he was mulling this over there was a knock on the door. He glared at it out of habit. He disliked disruptions while preparing for the day almost as much as he _hated_ being woken up before he was well and ready to rise. Loki was naturally an early riser, not wishing to waste the time of day, and he was always functional before Thor ever managed to think about rising, let alone getting out of bed. There were occasions, however, when even Loki couldn't bring himself to rise early if there was no real reason. No studies to attend to, no realm to travel to, no need for anyone to have an audience with the royal family. On these days Loki had leave to do as he pleased, and although he usually took the opportunity to hole up in the library all day or walk the grounds, he would sometimes sleep well past dawn and sometimes even into the early afternoon. And of course it was on these days that he was woken rudely.

Thor flinging open his doors, having managed to bypass the locks with brute strength, and pouncing on him in their younger days, anticipating an adventure. Even when they were older it didn't stop Thor from throwing his doors open and attacking him with excitement about a diplomatic mission or fight. He would shake Loki until he growled and sent a few ice daggers in his direction.

Or when Frigga's sister would visit and bring her tribe of children, who varied in ages from five to well over twenty, some even older than Loki and Thor. These were the days that he despised the most. Her sister's visits would always be unannounced, and at the crack of dawn, she would arrive, surprising Frigga pleasantly and forcing Odin to roll his one good eye, welcome her warmly, and then shout orders to have chambers prepared for visitors. The women would go off to chat and the younger of children would be in need of entertainment and what better form did they have in form of two older cousins who could command lightening and illusions.

Thor would awaken early on these days, sensing their arrival and he would greet them with smiles and laughter and charge the children with their favorite game: waking up his "cranky" younger brother. The doors to Loki's chambers would fly open, bathing the dismal insides in a golden light as ten screaming children would descend upon him, bouncing on the bed and his body, giggling and demanding "magic, magic, magic". Loki would scowl and have to restrain himself from flinging ice daggers at their frail little bodies.

They would climb on him, thinking he was a playground like Thor, who let them hang off his arms and swing and who would hoist some to his shoulders while others gripped his legs like tree trunks and held on as he walked. Loki found no pleasure in being pawed over by the rowdy children. He preferred the quiet one, Tessa, a girl of eight who was pale with a long face. She would never run and join the others in their attack. She would instead stand by the door with Thor as he laughed and encouraged their onslaught. Once they had dispersed, she would wave shyly and say hello and then disappear, to be found in the gardens later where she would silently beg with wide eyes to be read to.

Loki liked those warm afternoons and remembered them fondly. Tessa fit snugly in his lap as he sat cross-legged under blossoming trees and read her accounts of great wars and other histories. She would turn the pages slowly, taking in illustrations, trying to decipher large words. He would smile, placing his chin on her head, and ask when she would like him to continue only to receive a quiet murmur in negative response. When she was ready she would tug at his sleeve. He would oblige and begin reading again. They would be alone all afternoon, with only the sounds of the garden keeping them company, except on the not so rare occasion that she would drop by. Sif always said he looked natural with a child tucked in his lap. He used to smile when she said it. Now he would just sneer.

The rapid knocking on the door brought him back to the hotel room in Germany. Whoever the knocker was, they were impatient or maybe it was urgent. It wasn't room service, so as Loki walked towards the door, he puzzled over who it could be. Barton would have just called or, better yet, found a sneakier way into the hotel if their plans were compromised. He stopped just before unlatching it and checked the peep hole. The distorted image was that of a figure with wispy hair, brown wispy hair. Anja.

He unlatched the door and yanked it open.

"Hellooooooooo…" Her voice dragged off as she trailed her eyes from his face down to the floor.

Loki raised an eyebrow at her response and then it clicked.

He was just in a towel and such nudity was, although accepted in Midgard, uncommon, especially in certain situations between a man and a woman who had just met.

He laughed nervously and closed the door to all but a crack big enough to frame his face as he stepped behind it.

"Apologies," he said grinning, "I just got out of the shower and, well…"

"No need to apologize," Anja said, waving her hand as though to push the words away. Her voice had risen in pitch and her usually porcelain complexion had a tinge of red around the cheeks. "The view was…pleasant."

Loki let out a small noise somewhere between a huff and snort of approval as he opened the door a few inches more, not to tempt exactly, just to ruffle her a bit more. It was rather nice to see her flustered considering she about demolished his last nerve at breakfast yesterday.

"What brings you to my door today, miss?" He asked casually.

She smiled and finally drew her eyes to his after intensely studying the pattern of the carpeted hallway for several seconds.

"Well, I didn't see you at breakfast, so I figured you were either out all morning or locked away in your room doing business things. I also figured you must be hungry and was wondering if you would like to go get some midday sustenance."

She kept his gaze and wasn't near as red around the cheeks anymore. He internally frowned as he reached his right arm up to grip the door frame, his left hand idly gripping the inside handle, stretching his long torso out.

"Sustenance sounds wonderful. But perhaps we should convene when I am dressed properly and fit for the public eye."

She laughed lightly behind her hand and gave his figure another once over glance before stepping away from the door. He smiled at her, genuinely, as the pink returned to her cheeks.

"Lobby. Thirty minutes. Wear pants," she managed between laughs as she headed down the hall to the left towards the stairs.

He watched her as she left, straining slightly outside the doorway, watching her shoulders sway under the green plaid that hugged her torso and how her hair played in soft waves until it reached the small of her back. And then her hips, sheathed in dark blue denim, took over from there.

He stopped then and glanced down either end of the hall, thinking for a second that if someone else were present, his thoughts would be heard. He cursed himself quietly as he pulled himself from the doorway, throwing both locks back into place, and headed back to the bed where he was now faced with the task of conjuring another outfit. He stared at the pile of clothes until a chirping sound broke his concentration. The telecommunications device seizured and screamed on his bedside table.

Loki swiped the phone from the table and pressed the green block with a sigh. He sat on the bed, pulling his towel off to squeegee the last of the water from the tips of his hair with his left hand as he lazily pressed the phone to right ear.

"Hello…"

"Hello, sir. Just calling to check in with you. I called three times this morning and didn't get a response so I have to admit I was a bit worried."

"I was sleeping." Loki sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with his left hand. "Is it necessary to keep such watch on me as though I am nothing but a child?" The contempt was palpable in his voice.

"Sir, I know you're everything but. We're just keeping minimal surveillance on you. We obviously can't post guards around the hotel or people would get suspicious, especially if SHEILD is scanning the entire planet to find us."

"You are correct, Barton," Loki growled. "There must have been another reason for you to contact me though, besides surveillance, so what is it."

"We need to meet up, specifically you coming to us."

Loki was thinking of his outfit for the day. The pants that Barton always wore, what were they called? Jeans? And he liked how they looked in black, almost akin to his leather. And they even had an adequate amount of pockets.

"What for?" he asked distractedly.

"We need to test out…some equipment is all."

He wanted something lighter than a button-up for the shirt, something more casual. And something that wasn't a varying shade of black or gray. Perhaps green. With short sleeves.

"What equipment do you speak of…"

"We don't have a name for it, sir, but you know what it does. The device you are to carry on your person Friday night at the gala to extract the 'information' we need from Dr. Schäfer."

But the weather wasn't completely agreeable for just one layer of thin clothing on his torso. He would need something else. A jacket of sorts, but not one quite as long and pompous as his overcoat. Something shorter, perhaps to the waist, with buckles or buttons. A heavy metal zipper. It obviously had to be made out of leather to be repellant against any random rainstorm and have a collar that could guard against the wind.

"Right. And why do I need to come in again?"

Barton sighed, now convinced that Loki was paying little to no attention. "We need to test the device, sir. You obviously need to test it since you'll be using it."

"Ah, but what good is testing it if it can't be a completely realistic test? What are we going to use to simulate an eye? Some gelatinous substitute?" And maybe some glasses. The tinted kind that he had seen people wear yesterday. They had swooping lenses and seemed like just the unnecessary accoutrement that Luke Asimov may have on his person when going out in the partially sunny German weather.

"We have a…volunteer, if you will."

"Really? Whom?" Barton had Loki's full attention now.

"Meet us in about half an hour and you can find out."

"Half an hour?" Loki paused. "Apologies, Barton, but I have other plans for today."

"Plans?"

"You told me to reconfirm our already accurate information. I have been doing just that. You also gave me the generous directive of acting mortal, and I'm happy to report that I have been doing quite a bit of that as well." Sarcasm weighed down his words.

"Fair enough," Barton said coolly. "Is your highness available tomorrow?"

Loki clamped his mouth shut tightly, resisting the urge to spout at the tease of being called royalty.

"Yes. Tomorrow will be fine."

"Splendid." The line clicked and went dead.

Loki tossed the phone carelessly on the bedside table, where it clanked against the old liquor glass and the alarm clock.

He stood, leaving the towel on the bed, and looked at his new outfit folded neatly on the bed. He smiled and dressed quickly, for a half an hour had almost passed and if he didn't like waiting, he was sure mortals didn't like to as well, especially since their lives were so short.

Loki stood in front of the full length mirror across from the bathroom door, smiling as he pulled on his waist-length leather jacket. Black fitted jeans, a dark green shirt with a slight V shape at the neck where his shades hung. He pulled his hair out from under the jacket's collar and grinned. He could almost pass as a mortal. Almost.

He slid the wallet into his back pocket and changed the staff back into its pen shape. He then walked out, purposely leaving the phone on the bedside table.

Loki expected her to be impatiently waiting, looking around in a rather frantic manner. Instead she was looking at one of the many pieces of "art" that decorated the walls of the lobby, seeming rather content. She smiled when he approached, nonetheless, and gave him another look from head to toe.

"Aviators," she said, pointing to the shades that hung down his sternum. "Classy."

He pulled them off his shirt and put them on, flashing her a big smile. "But of course."

She giggled, pulled on her jacket, and they were off.

The sunglasses soon made their way back to the collar of his shirt, because even though the sun peaked out occasionally, it wasn't obnoxiously bright. They walked past the square that had visited yesterday and onward, weaving through the side streets. The streets were bustling with people, in cars, on bikes, and of course, walking.

She led the way through the catacombs of side streets, disorientating Loki completely. She chattered about a "quaint little place tucked away from the noise of the main strip of Stuttgart" that was "easy to find" but took time to get to even though it was within a walkable distance from the hotel.

"It's a café on a corner, with two big windows down each side with the name etched on the class in golden frosted letters. I swear it was built in the 1940's. I love it and would always go there for breakfast whenever I came here with company."

"You haven't been there in a while, have you?" It would have been a statement, if not for the slight pitch in his voice at the end, giving away the inquisition.

She gave him a side glance. "No, I haven't. Why do you ask?"

"You said 'would'," Loki said with a shrug. "It implies the past tense. If you still did every year you would have said 'Whenever I come here with company' not 'came', which again creates the image that you've been coming to Stuttgart alone for quite sometime, which is odd, considering you've only been coming here for a decade."

Anja was silent, looking up at him with her brows slightly knitted together.

"You pick up on the slightest things, don't you?"

"I'm very observant of my surroundings and the people I am with," he replied coolly, scanning the street.

"Kind of like Sherlock Holmes, then? Minus Watson?"

Loki stopped at the edge of a street as cars chugged by. His brows drew together tightly as he stared at her, puzzled and frowning.

"Who?" He asked, flatly and slightly annoyed.

"Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's famous fictional character. He could pick up great things about people's personalities based on little things that they did, the way they walked or talked or the things they had lying around at home or in their pockets. That's what your detection of tense reminds me of."

"Ah," Loki replied lightly, not at all amused with being compared to a fictional mortal.

She smiled and tugged his arm gently, attempting to brush off his irritation.

"I mean nothing offensive by it. I think it's an…attractive trait."

Loki was even less pleased with that response, but he pursed his lips together in silence as they crossed the street. She stopped then and gestured.

"Tah dah. Welcome to Die Kaffeekanne."

It was quaint and definitely had the 1940's appeal that Anja had spoken of. Two large windows that stretched down the two streets it hugged with The Coffee Pot etched in cursive on each window. It was so plain that many people just waltzed by, not even catching it a second glance. Loki had a slight feeling that it reminded Anja of a place she once was but could never return to. Perhaps home.

"Do you like it?" She asked eagerly, holding his wrist lightly as she rocked back and forth on her feet.

"I'll be able to judge that better once we're inside, don't you think?"

She smiled, content with the answer, and pulled him inside.

The inside wasn't drab, but it was homey. Old Formica tables, worn leather booths, and rickety wooden chairs. Everything was probably from the 1940's or earlier. It had the look of the diner in that small town that Thor found when he was banished. Loki remembered it from when he sent the Destroyer to, well, destroy the town. It had large windows too, which took a real beating when two Asgardians went flying through them. He partially hoped that this city wouldn't burn, and this diner along with it, but it was an expense that couldn't be spared at this point.

As they walked in, a woman in black slacks and a white blouse approached them.

"Gutan tag, Anja. In town for the gala again?"

Anja nodded and smiled. "Did you mark it on your calendar, or just know when you saw me again it would be about that time?"

"The second one," the woman said, laughing slightly. She pulled two menus out from under the podium that was near the door that had a faded "Please Wait to be Seated" sign on it. She then looked Loki up and down quickly before giving Anja a look that was nestled somewhere between friendly worry and a questioning of Anja's judgement.

"Well, as you can see, Sunday business is booming, so take your pick." She gestured around to the near empty diner.

"A booth by the window, please, if it's not too much trouble."

"Not for you, my dear. Right this way." They woman led them to the left half of the diner and set the menus down at a booth in the corner at the end of the window. Loki took the seat facing down the street with his back to the wall. The woman let them settle before she pulled out a pad of paper and pen.

"What can I get you two to drink?"

"A cup of coffee with water on the side, thank you," Anja said cheerily as she started to thumb through the menu.

"Alright." The woman made a few scribbles. "And you, sir?"

"Water," Loki said, somewhat nervously, for the woman continued to stare at him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. It was as though she didn't trust him, and although she was right not to, she didn't have any grounds no to. He immediately thought that she knew who he was, recognized his face, and that he would have to cut her down before she left the table to most likely call SHIELD and other local authorities to attempt to apprehend him. His hands flexed under the table as he tried to remember how to conjure up ice daggers through the fog of his memory when she merely nodded, scribbled, and then left.

"Does all the company that you bring when you come here get the death glare from that woman?" Loki asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Mmm?" Anja looked up from her menu, completely oblivious to any such glares being exchanged between Loki and the waitress. Then her eyes widened and she laughed. "Oh, Laina! Hahahaha! No, no, she's not giving you a 'death' glare per se, she's more or less checking you over to make sure you're safe for me, which I don't need her to do, but she does it anyway. She's always done it, even when I came here with my boyfriends. Either that or she finds every guy I bring in here to be attractive. Don't worry about it, she's harmless."

Loki opened his menu slowly, glancing around the café, slightly worried he'd see Laina glaring at him from across the room.

"Checking me out to make sure I'm safe for you? Whatever for?"

"It's what girls do," Anja replied flatly, engrossed in the menu even though she knew it by heart. "We watch each other's backs and make sure that one another is safe. It's an odd universal kind of rule, really. Perhaps I'll have eggy in a basket. I didn't really eat a proper breakfast."

Loki just stared at her with a brow raised over his menu. Women were confusing enough. Mortal women were a whole new box of cats.

Laina came back with their drinks and took their orders. Her look towards Loki held less intensity, but she was still a bit frightening. Loki gave her a faint smile when he said thank you and for just a fraction of a second, he saw her glare falter. For that second all he could think of was Thor spouting on about him being desirable if he would just stop "brooding about reading about magic all day" and how chambermaidens who were anxious to be bedded by him whispered about his smile to each other as they washed the linens or walked the halls of the palace. Although it pained him to admit it, perhaps Thor was right after all, and that smiling at women had a greater effect than dazzling them with illusions. Loki had more faith in the latter, though.

Only a few minutes of silence passed before a sizzling pervaded the air and Laina returned with two large platters.

"Eggy in a basket for the misses and eggs, hash browns, and bacon for the gentleman." Laina laid down their plates. Anja clapped happily and pulled off her coat then picked up her utensils. Laina asked if they needed anything else and then scurried off to the other end of the diner.

The minutes passed in what Loki would consider a content silence. They ate, looked out the window and everywhere else, respectfully avoiding each other's gaze. He arbitrarily ordered his meal and was quite pleased with it in its entirety as he stared down the street at the steady swarm of people that bustled up and down the street. Cars stopped then drove on, people walked, in pairs, in groups, alone, phones pressed to their cheeks, chatting with a neighbor. All of them, blissfully unaware that their future king sat behind a somewhat smudged glass window that they idly passed.

After a few more minutes of distracted mastication, Loki finally turned his gaze on Anja. He expected her to be smiling, a seemingly constant state for her, as she gobbled down her food. Instead she sat, her utensils poised over her plate, chewing rather lethargically, staring at the red, white, and black Formica table top. He watched the muscle in her neck contract and release as she chewed, followed the line of it down her neck to her visible clavicle, to her clavicle to her sternum. Down her sternum until his view of her flesh was stopped by a fringe of black lace that was edging the black garment she had on under her green plaid button-up. He hadn't noticed it when she stood at his door earlier, nor how slender her neck was, and how her collar bones protruded significantly and were dappled with the smallest of skin imperfections. Freckles, he thought they were called. She had a few across her face as well, especially over the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. He stared at her a moment longer before he realized that she was staring at him, intently, her jaw locked in the middle of shredding food.

"Are you married?"

Loki stared at her blankly. He swallowed, not because he had food in his mouth, but because it was the only thing he could think of doing. He stared at her and then reached out his right hand to clumsily pick up his glass of water.

"Beg your pardon?" He asked, coughing slightly as he sipped the cool liquid.

"Are you married? Like, do you have a wife? Or maybe not even that, a girlfriend? A lover back in New York? Someone who wouldn't like a German gal showing you the town."

"No, no, no, no, no," Loki said, sighing a little. "I cannot afford such a distraction."

Anja raised a brow. "A distraction?" She said it rather loudly, with force, and if the diner had been full, those seated around them would have turned and stared.

Loki bit his lip lightly. He felt something building up, cognitively, a tsunami of words that had been swirling for many years, crashing now against the dams he had locked so tightly in his mind. What did it hurt, to let the dams leak a little and relieve possible a shred of sorrow?

"I didn't mean it in an offensive manner." He placed his utensils on his plate and pushing it forward slightly. "To answer simply, no, I am not married and I have no wife. There is no woman in my life who would be offended if you escorted me around town." Besides, perhaps, his mother. It was not looked upon fondly when the gods were involved with mortals in any degree.

"Why not?"

It was a simple question, and that is what made it dangerous. It was completely open ended.

"Simply because I…do not have the best of luck in these matters, or any really." The leaks had started to gush as pressure increased. "I was always…overlooked, I guess you could say, though overshadowed would be more accurate."

All residents of the lower lying areas, please seek high ground. The dams have burst.

"There was this one girl I fancied, she was…" He started, then stopped, paused, reminisced, let her name come back from the place where he just hid it. "Brilliant. Strong willed, a sharp mind, powerful. Beautiful. What I loved about her most was that she enjoyed reading as much as I did, that and she appreciated my talent. She praised me because she saw me. She saw me because she didn't ignore me. She was a great friend and one day, maybe, I would have arranged for her to be my bride."

Loki had looked out the window during his verbal typhoon. He looked back at Anja, to find her frowning.

"What happened? Why aren't you married now?"

Loki felt bile rise in the back of his throat and a bitter feeling engulf him. He sighed, heavily, painfully.

"There are many reasons why, but none of them matter now."

Ladies and gentlemen, you may return to your now submerged homes. The dams are in the process of being rebuilt.

"That's fair enough," Anja resumed cutting up her toast which was soaked in undercooked egg. "I was just really worried that I either upset you or jeopardized your relationship with your lady if you had one after I foolishly gave you a peck on the cheek last night. You stood there for at least two minutes, looking distraught to say the least, so I thought that I had crossed the line."

Loki's eyes widened. This was all about the kiss she gave him? He just blurted out a part of his life that had partially tormented him for almost eight centuries and she just wanted to make sure she wasn't violating some mortal code involving other women.

Vixen. Harpy. Whore.

His initial anger at the action flared back up, but he quelled it slightly and took a shaky breathe.

"It was a surprise, that's all," he finally managed between gritted teeth. "I haven't been kissed in quite a long time." Eight-hundred and thirteen years to be exact.

"It seemed like more than that to you," she retorted, bringing her gray eyes up to meet his own fiery blue.

Contempt and rage flooded through them, as well as bitterness like ice. He was completely guilty of thinking of Sif.

Her face softened almost instantaneously.

"Listen," she said, gently placing a hand on his left forearm which rested across the table. "I only smooched you because you were sweet and put up with me all day. That and I think you're pretty handsome, if you don't mine me saying. Don't take it in a negative light. I'm not trying to play hard to get or take your money or anything. I'm not an escort and I don't work for the mob, and I'm not going to trick you into buying me dinner or anything like that. I'm not a whore either." She said this last sentence with conviction and a little force, seemingly about to read it in his eyes. "I just like to have fun. I am also very guilty of being overly affectionate to people I just met. It's a character flaw, but I live with it. Is that acceptable?"

He stared at her, felt her hand tighten slightly over his leather clad forearm.

"It's acceptable." He even managed to give her a weak smile.

"Good," she said, smiling sweetly. "Well, we seem to have worn out our stay here. Shall we leave?"

They paid for their meals, separately, at the cash register at the deserted bar in the middle of the diner. Laina smiled and said goodbye, waving as they left. She couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling, though, as through the glass door she saw Anja grab the tall man's left arm protectively before they crossed the street.

For once Loki wasn't annoyed at her clinging to him or even touching him. He allowed her touch to show her that he was telling the truth when he agreed that her prerogative of fun was acceptable and that he was not bothered by her "character flaw". If anything, he slightly, albeit guiltily, enjoyed it. Both acts were a first in themselves.

They arrived at the hotel in what seemed like less time than it took them to walk to Die Kaffeekanne. They sauntered through the lobby in tandem and disconnected upon reaching the elevators. Anja pressed thirteen and smiled. It was her turn to be courteous.

The elevator chimed on thirteen and the doors slid open. They walked, continuing their prattling small talk of weather, and food, and anything that came to mind. Mindless, mortal drabble. Upon reaching his door, Loki paused and fished out his wallet, pulling his room key from a slot.

"Well, until tomorrow, Miss Zimmermann. Thank you for the lovely walk, sustenance, and conversation." Not a drop of sarcasm soiled his tone.

She smiled, genuinely, and let out a small giggle.

"Until tomorrow, Mr. Asimov," she said as she offered him a hand to shake.

Loki gripped it in his right hand and smiled. Then he bent slightly and pressed his lips to the top of her hand. He held her hand there, beneath his lips for what seemed like an hour, but was no more than a few seconds, before releasing her, wide eyed and slightly flushed.

He swiped the card and opened his door, hurrying slightly inside so that he could relish her retreat. She just smiled, turned red, and then practically bounced down the hall to the stairs, a much better response than internally cursing the kisser. Two could play in this game.


End file.
